Hard Rock Crush

by Athena Wright

  Even when I told myself I had to keep my distance, I found myself gravitating toward Liam. There was something about him. Whether he was being cocky or playful or vulnerable — something called to me. I wanted to ease his worries. Share in his antics. Bask in his confidence.

  Shit. I was in so much trouble.

  "You don't seem nervous at all," Liam noted.

  I lowered my hand and took a step back. "I don't get nervous before performing."

  Or, at least, I didn't usually. I loved being on stage. It felt like the one place where I could finally let go and be the person I wanted to be. The person I was supposed to be.

  But Liam was right. This was a whole different dynamic, completely new circumstances.

  It didn't matter. I couldn't let any of that show. My bandmates would take their cues from me.

  Besides, when I'd given them that pep talk, I'd only been speaking the truth. We'd worked so hard for this. And we'd finally, finally, made it. I was going to enjoy the hell out of myself out there on that stage.

  The door to the artist lounge opened. I heard the distant shouts of fans crying out for Cherry Lips. I expected to see one of the event staff coming in to let us know how much longer we had before going on.

  But someone else was striding in. Someone I hadn't seen in a while.

  Someone from my past. Someone from Harper's past.

  Morris Edwards, drummer of hit rock band Feral Silence. My childhood friend. The man I'd relied on for half my life.

  The man partly responsible for my fiancé's death.

  16

  To my ears, the room fell eerily silent. The sound of the guys talking and eating became muted. The only thing I heard was the rapid pounding of my heartbeat.

  It had been many months since I'd last seen Morris. We'd first reconnected, after being estranged for years, because of his girlfriend. She'd found the emotional wounds still festering from Harper's death and helped him through it. She'd tracked me down and encouraged a reunion.

  Seeing Morris was confusing, painful, but I didn't begrudge her for it. I had missed him over the years. I didn't regret having him back in my life.

  That didn't mean I wasn't conflicted over having him show up out of the blue like this.

  With his short hair cut close to his scalp and his broad shoulders taking up most of the doorframe, Morris looked more bodyguard than rock star, but anyone who saw him behind a drum set would never doubt his true calling.

  "Hey." The corner of Morris's lips tilted up an inch, as close to a grin as I'd ever seen on the stoic man.

  "Hey." I returned his smile with a small one of my own.

  I didn't really blame Morris for Harper's death. I knew it wasn't his fault. But seeing Morris again ripped open those still barely healed scars. It reminded me of everything I'd tried to put behind me. Everything I'd tried to forget.

  Everything that had resurfaced since meeting Liam.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, not unkindly.

  "Came to see your show." That tilt of his lips curved a fraction higher. His brown eyes held a note of pride.

  "Thanks for coming, man," my brother said. "But you gotta know we're gonna make your band look like shit compared to us." He smirked, but his eyes flicked to me.

  Gael knew what had happened. He'd been there. He'd seen the fallout. He knew how difficult this was for me.

  "That's a long drive, just to come out for one show," I said.

  "Wouldn't miss it," Morris said simply. He regarded me silently, then held out his arms.

  With a moment of hesitation, I stepped forward, letting him embrace me with a squeeze. I wrapped my own arms around him. I was taller than average, especially with my heeled boots, but Morris was even more so. My top of my head didn’t even reach his chin.

  His hand on my back was as comforting as it was heart wrenching. Old memories flashed though my mind. There was something missing. A second hand was supposed to be on my back next to his. The double embrace of the two men who meant so much to me. Harper, the love of my life, and Morris, the brother of my heart.

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes. A vast emptiness in my chest gaped open. The void where Harper's hand was supposed to be both burned with regret and chilled with mourning.

  I let go of Morris and stepped back. I hoped my glistening eyes didn't give me away. Despite his impassive expression, from the shine in Morris's own eyes, I knew he was just as affected.

  "Who's this?" Liam asked from behind me.

  Blinking back tears and clearing my throat, I made introductions. "Liam, this is Morris, an old friend."

  Morris held out his hand to Liam, who eyed it suspiciously.

  "Morris Edwards," the drummer said.

  Recognition lit up in Liam's eyes. "Feral Silence?" he asked.

  Morris nodded.

  "And you know Cerise?" Liam asked.

  "We go way back," he said.

  Liam looked between me and Morris. The frown on his lips didn't ease. If anything, it deepened.

  "You two are close," he said.

  I examined Liam with a careful eye. The statement was almost accusing.

  "Morris is a childhood friend," I explained. "We've known each other for more than half our lives."

  Despite being a little annoyed at Liam's unfriendly demeanor, that small, insecure part inside me felt just a bit delighted at his possessiveness.

  Liam Knight could have any girl he wanted, but he wanted me. And he couldn't hide his annoyance at seeing me hug another man.

  That really shouldn't have pleased me as much as it did.

  "You're new," Morris noted with a questioning tone, seemingly not noticing Liam's frown, or simply choosing to ignore it.

  "I'm Cerise's new guitarist," Liam replied.

  "He's filling in for me," I said. "Singing and playing at the same time was getting to be a bit much. We decided a temporary session guitarist would be a good idea for the tour."

  Morris nodded. Way back with our old band, I hadn't played guitar while singing, either. "How've you been?"

  "Working our asses off," I said. "I don't think we've ever rehearsed for a show as much as this one."

  "It'll pay off," he reassured us. "It's hard work, but worth it."

  "How's the band?"

  "Doing great. Working on a new album. Kell's his usual annoying self. Insists on making half the album his solo songs." Morris's lips twitched upward. As much as he complained, I knew he had a soft spot for his obnoxious yet oddly charming lead singer.

  "And Natalie?" I asked, referring to his girlfriend. "You two are good?"

  Morris's eyes went soft, tender. "More than good." He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen before turning to show me. It was the sales page of a high end jewelry retailer, displaying a silver ring with an enormous rock.

  My mouth widened into an O. "Things are that serious?"

  He nodded. "Just waiting for the right time."

  "Good for you," I said, even as my heart broke a little. Morris deserved to find happiness, but it didn't make the situation hurt any less.

  Morris was getting the chance to marry the love of his life. A chance I never got.

  There was a knock on the door before it opened. Through the open door we could now hear the screaming of the audience, loud and frenzied.

  "Five minutes," the skinny kid popped his head in to say.

  "Fans are going crazy," Morris said to the others. "You ready?"

  "More than ready," Gael boasted. "We're going to blow the roof off."

  The rest of the band joined in with nods of affirmation.

  "We've got this," I said, aiming for bold and self-assured. The shaky note in my voice was so slight, I didn't think anyone noticed.

  "You'll be great out there," Morris said quietly. "I know it."

  His words calmed me. Filled me with determination.

  "Of course we will," I replied with a smirk. "We're Cherry Lips. We're going to take the world by storm."

  "B
etter get going, then," he said.

  "Going to wish me good luck?" I asked.

  Morris smiled. "You don't need it."

  The band made our way to the curtain backstage. We barely had enough time to grab our instruments from the crew before the lights went down and we were given our cue. We made a circle and, with clenched hands, did a six-way fist bump, our usual ritual.

  "Alright, guys," I said. I looked at each of them in turn. No hint of nerves. Just fiery resolve, an eagerness, a familiar hunger burning in their eyes. "Let's put on the show of our lives."

  We took our places. I was center stage. Gael and Julian were on my left. Liam and Nathan were on my right. Seth was positioned behind us. The lights were still down. I ran through our set list in my head, preparing myself.

  I had caved when it came to the set list. Liam had been on to something when he talked about switching opening and closing songs. Starting with Nineteen set the tone of the concert.

  It wasn't just a rock show. We weren't just playing music. We were wringing emotions from the audience. We were enchanting them, seducing them.

  In those moments on stage, the audience was our lover. We gave ourselves to them and asked them to give themselves to us in return.

  It wasn't just a rock show.

  It was a torrid love affair.

  How fitting, then, our choice of opening song.

  It was one of the earliest Cherry Lips song I'd ever written about my first, and only, true love.

  The lights went up, blinding me. The crowd roared. Seth hit his drumsticks. Julian smashed his fingers down on the keys with a thundering crash. Nathan and Liam shredded their fingers across their fret boards. Gael joined in with bass, a familiar heavy beat thrumming through my body.

  My hand squeezed around the microphone.

  Ending the concert with Nineteen was easy. I was hyped up, running on adrenaline, basking in the glory of an enraptured audience — the past was a distant memory. It had no power to hurt me. I lived fully in the present.

  But Morris had just walked back into my life and stirred up unwanted thoughts, unwanted feelings. All my old grief hit me with full force.

  My throat closed up. My mouth went dry. My hands trembled.

  I couldn't do this.

  The concert had already started and I was so close to crying, tears were already stinging my eyes.

  Shit. I had to pull myself together or I was going to blow this whole thing.

  The song had a long intro. I kept my head bowed, long hair covering my face, gripping the microphone with both hands. It was a typical lead singer pose, as if I was a tiger lying in wait, waiting for the right moment to let loose with my claws and jump on my prey.

  I caught movement through the curtain of my hair. Liam was sidling up next to me. It seemed as if his fingers both lovingly stroked and frantically tore at the strings of his guitar.

  I lifted my head a fraction, meeting his eyes. The spotlights hit them, making them glow. Despite the cocky smirk on his face, his eyes glimmering with concern. Concern, but also reassurance.

  He mouthed five words.

  You're a fucking rock star.

  A slow smile crossed my face.

  I often felt vulnerable around Liam. He knocked me off balance. I had shown him too much of myself. I'd revealed more than I'd cared to.

  But there were these other times. Times like this when he looked at me, so sure in my talent, so confident. He looked at me like he had complete faith in me. Like he was in awe of me.

  I didn't feel vulnerable in these moments. I felt strong. Powerful.

  Liam tilted his chin smugly and jerked it toward the audience, as if to say, what are you waiting for?

  He was right. What the hell was I waiting for?

  I shoved aside thoughts of grief and pain and heartbreak. I lifted my head high and looked out at the cheering crowd.

  I inhaled deeply, getting ready to let loose with familiar lyrics, passionate and full of fervor.

  I'm not going to let grief stop me, I thought to myself. This is my moment.

  I'm going to burn like the sun.

  17

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. My skin buzzed with frantic energy. My heartbeat jackhammered against my ribcage.

  The concert was in full swing and Cherry Lips was bringing the house down.

  Every note, every beat, had our fans jumping and stomping. Every word that left my lips elicited an explosive response from the audience.

  My band members and I were in in a state of pure ecstasy. There was nothing better than this.

  Nothing, except for Liam's piercing eyes tracking my every movement on stage. Nothing, except for his lips nearly touching mine as he leaned into the microphone for a brief duet.

  There was nothing better than being on stage with my band — except for having Liam up there with me.

  I had wondered what our chemistry would look like, would feel like, during a live performance. But all my worries were set to rest.

  When Liam leaned his back against mine, when he arched against me as he wailed on his guitar, when his heat seared through thin layers of clothing and sent flames licking across my skin—

  The flush on my cheeks wasn't just from the hot spotlights. The clench of my stomach wasn't solely from exertion. The ache between my legs wasn't some sort of egotistical arousal from having enraptured the audience, as sometimes happened.

  It was his fingers, moving so adeptly across the strings of his guitar. It was his eyes, narrowed with a single-minded resolve. It was his body, vibrating against mine from the same adrenaline high I was so familiar with.

  And it was the crowd below us, waving their arms frantically, screaming their hearts out, singing along with every lyric, tears pouring down their faces.

  We'd never experienced a concert like this.

  And I knew it was because of Liam.

  I'd been roused by his presence before. I'd experienced thrills and heat and lust.

  But right then, up on stage with him?

  I'd never felt so strong. So alive.

  This was why I did what I did. This was why I sang. Why I performed.

  I was unstoppable. I was fearless.

  It really did feel like I could take on the world.

  And I was just now realizing I wanted Liam by my side as I did exactly that.

  As the concert wound down, as we played our final encore song, Liam drifted closer and closer, until he was right next to me, hips cantered forward. As he played, he rocked back and forth, rubbing his guitar against his body, bringing attention to his abdomen… and lower.

  The suggestive pose set my body aflame. All I could think about was rushing off the stage, pulling Liam into the closest dark corner and—

  And what?

  My mind, body, and heart were caught in a three-way war.

  My body told me I needed that man's lips on mine. I needed his hands on my skin. I needed his hips between my thighs.

  My heart told me I needed his arms wrapped around me. I needed his heart beating next to mine. I needed him to hold me close and never let me go.

  My mind told me either of those two options was a bad idea. The worst idea.

  Jumping into bed with Liam would ruin any sense of professionalism I'd been trying to achieve between us. Giving my heart to him would only lead to heartbreak and regrets.

  In the final few moments of the song, our eyes met.

  I saw the same hunger reflected back at me.

  My body sucker-punched my heart and mind, sending the two of them reeling with wicked glee, leaving it in sole control.

  The song ended. The concert was over. We threw guitar picks, drum sticks, water bottles and towels at the audience, giving a few lucky fans a literal piece of the band.

  As we left the stage to a cheering crowd still shouting for another encore, Liam put his lips to my ear.

  "I don't care what the others are doing after this concert," he murmured. "But you and I need to talk."

/>   Talk? My body whined and squirmed inwardly. The last thing it wanted to do was talk. It wanted arms and legs tangled together. It wanted hands roaming my body. Liam's hands.

  Nevertheless, the six of us headed back to the artist lounge. I wondered how in the hell I'd get Liam alone.

  "Hey," Gael said to me. "Nate wants to go clubbing."

  "Morris said there's an awesome place a few blocks from here," Nathan added.

  I saw an opening. I seized it.

  "You go ahead," I said. "I need to talk to the venue manager. Business stuff."

  That wasn't unusual. Sometimes there really was stuff to discuss. Like handing over the money they owed us. There was no worry of being stiffed now that we had a label, but Gael wouldn't think to connect the two.

  "I need to make a few phone calls first," Liam said.

  It was a pathetic excuse. What was so urgent that he had to make a phone call after midnight on a Saturday?

  None of them questioned it.

  "Cool, see you there," Gael said, just like I knew he would.

  They gathered their things and soon left.

  We were alone.

  I stared at Liam. His skin still glistened with sweat from the stage lights. His t-shirt clung to his chest, every peak and valley on display. His dark denim hung low, exposing a bare stripe of slim toned torso.

  "Cerise…" he said, still slightly out of breath. He stopped there, as if he didn't know how to continue. He swiped his hand down his face and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. When his eyes met mine again, my heart clenched in my chest.

  I'd been so adamant in my resolve. So sure that turning Liam away was the right thing to do.

  The way those green eyes were gazing into mine, so full of hunger… but also something else. Patience. Awe.

  My body had shoved aside my mind and my heart, but now those two forces were pushing their way to the forefront.

  I'd been so worried what people would think. So worried how this would affect the band.

  But if I was being honest with myself, I knew those were just excuses.

  "Cerise, you keep on saying this is a bad idea, but—" Liam started.

  I stepped forward. He cut himself off.